


Don't Get Too Political: The Old Guard

by Balkanika_52



Series: Don't Get Too Political [5]
Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF, The Old Guard (Movie 2020), The Old Guard (Movie 2020) RPF
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Fluff, Immortality, M/M, and with the crew, just a fun lil au based on one of my favourite films
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29200677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balkanika_52/pseuds/Balkanika_52
Summary: Basically the 2020 movie The Old Guard but with characters from my series Don't Get Too Political. As always, not meant to be taken seriously.
Relationships: Duncan Laurence/Vanja Radovanović
Series: Don't Get Too Political [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1877320
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

The first time that Ivan died, he had expected it.

Being a Montenegrin in the thirteenth century meant that the country, if it could even be called that yet, was still struggling to stay free, a fight that was horribly hard. Despite being more of a scholar than he had ever been a warrior, he had found himself fighting a soldier who was stronger than him, _so much stronger_ , and his last thought as the sword went through his chest was, _Well. It wasn’t like I was going to win, anyways._

Then he had woken up what felt like hours later gasping for breath, shaking in fear and from the cold that had seeped through his body. His clothes were stained with dried blood, but there was no wound, not even a scar.

Two days after he had died and come back to life, she found him. She had cast aside the name she had been given at birth, and simply called herself Vogel-- _because birds are the freest creatures in this world,_ she told him with a slight smile over the fire. When the Visigoths took Rome, she had been unlucky enough to get a Roman _pilum_ through her stomach, but had managed to take out the legionnaire that had attacked her before she bled out. And, just like Ivan, she had woken up healed and completely alive.

The centuries had passed, and as they did, she found others like her through dreams, then in real life, across the globe; Ana, in the Caucasus, who wielded a bow as an extension of her arm; Galini, on one of the many islands in the Aegean, who loved music more than anything; and Nessun, in the British Isles, who had taken the word for ‘nothing’ in one language and had made it her name. They had formed something that Ivan had never truly had.

A family.

He joined Vogel and the others that were with her, shedding the name he had once had for a simpler, more casual version of it: Vanja. Over the years, he died more times than he could remember, even though he had gotten better at using blades, thanks to lessons from his new family. Two swords, equally and perfectly balanced, became his weapons of choice, one with a ruby embedded in the hilt, the other with a citrine stone--a reminder of his homeland.

The swords, though, didn’t help when the dreams started for them again, four hundred years after Vanja had died for the first time. It was the same dream for all of them: a young man with light brown hair and a beard that could only be described as scruffy, drowning in a lake over and over again. Every time, he would scream out as he tried in vain to reach the surface, and every time, the water filled his lungs too quickly, so he sank to the bottom.

For some reason, it hurt Vanja more than the others did--like he was drowning alongside him.

It took them weeks to find their newest compatriot, eventually hauling him out of the bottom of that very lake in Holland. He was shivering so much he was almost vibrating as Vanja wrapped a blanket around him. The clothes he wore were plastered to his slender body, the linen showing every line of his form, every joint and bone. His pale skin was so mottled from the cold that it was nearly blue, the only word he could utter before he succumbed to hypoxia being _help_ . When he came back to life an hour later, Vanja being the only one in the room ( _it helps if there’s a familiar face,_ Vogel had said), he didn’t start gasping for breath--he started screaming, a noise that was so full of pain that it tore his heart to shreds.

“You’re safe!” He blurted, a split second before he realised that he had said it in his native language, and that he didn’t even know what language this man _spoke_ . The screams stopped, hazel eyes met brown ones, and the man said something in a language that sounded like German, a language that Vanja understood to an extent, thanks to Vogel teaching him. He had said _thank you_.

“You’re welcome.” He murmured softly, adding as an afterthought, “My name is Vanja.” A moment passed between them, then the other man spoke again. “Duncan.”

His name, it turned out. Over the next week, more details came from him, and, surprisingly, he adapted well to the truth--that he was immortal like them. He had drowned because someone had pushed him into that lake, a stranger, he told them in his quiet voice, because he would not have hurt anyone unless he had to, and had no idea why anyone would want him dead.

The truth came out a century later, when they were on the steppes of the Rus and had settled down to make camp for the night. Perhaps it was because he had pulled him out of the lake, but Duncan had formed a closer bond with Vanja over the decades than with any of the others. They shared nearly everything, and it wasn’t uncommon for them to wake up in each others’ arms, having gotten there out of a need for warmth--or a need for comfort and someone else’s touch.

“I know who killed me.”

“Hmm?” Vanja blinked the fatigue of the long day they had had out of his eyes at the confession, rolling onto his side to face his friend, suddenly alert and concerned. He hadn’t said much about drowning since it had happened. “I thought you didn’t see their face.” Duncan took a deep breath before the words rushed out of him like water out of a broken dam. “I lied, Vanja. I’ve been lying to you for decades, and I feel horrible about it. I died because I loved someone I wasn’t supposed to.”

It hit Vanja then that the man lying next to him had been harbouring this secret for longer than he had wanted to. “Come here.” He pulled him into a loose embrace, holding him gently as sobs racked his body, the pain of his first death finally coming out. “I’m here. I’m here, _ljubavi moja_.” He repeated those words as the tears flowed, wiping them away as they came. Eventually, the tears stopped, but the two of them stayed entwined, Duncan’s head lying on Vanja’s chest. A few minutes passed before Duncan spoke up, raising his head slightly to look him in the eyes.

“What does _ljubavi_ mean?”

He felt Vanja’s heartbeat speed up, and he knew that he had asked the right question (or he hoped he had, at least). Silence ensued for a moment before he replied, “It...it means _love."_

He had spent fifty years locked in a struggle in his head: should he tell him the truth and risk losing him, or keep it to himself and never know what could have been between them? A little gasp escaped Duncan’s mouth before he whispered, “ _Vanja,_ ” and kissed him. The weather outside was cold, but he was warm, and soft, and as he kissed him he felt like he was home, a feeling that he hadn’t known for over a century. “I love you.”

“I think that’s obvious, don’t you?” Vanja’s lazy smile made his emotions bubble up inside of him, and as Duncan struggled for words, he laughed, kissing him softly on the forehead. “I love you, too, Duncan, no matter how many arrows I have to pull out of your back.”


	2. Chapter 2

_ Three hundred years later… _

“We were never meant for war. The world is better off with us not fighting the battles of others.” So much had changed since he had first lived, Vanja mused, but the one constant in his life was Duncan’s calm demeanor. That, and his desire for nothing more in life than a piano, a heap of books, and a cat in his lap--and Vanja by his side, of course. For years now, they had run a little bookstore in Rotterdam, a city, ironically enough, that was just a few kilometers away from where they had met all those years ago.

At first, he had worried about the location--had asked if it would bring back bad memories--but Duncan had just laughed and said that he knew he could count on him to keep the bad memories away. So they traded their armor for sweaters and weapons for words (although their blades were still in the trunk at the foot of their bed) and lived normal lives, for the most part, taking in two stray cats and helping the occasional history student that wandered in with their dissertation, always slipping a few stories into the conversation as they wrapped up the books they had purchased in butcher’s paper and twine. “Sometimes, I wonder how the others are doing. Especially since...well. You know.”

Vanja didn’t have to go into detail for Duncan to know what he was referring to. The day Galini had died.

_ Permanently  _ died.

She had been stabbed with a bayonet during a fight in Odessa in the late nineteenth century. At first, the bleeding had been an inconvenience, but then her wounds wouldn’t heal. She had bled out, shaking as it happened, her last words being  _ It was too good to last forever.  _ It was the first time that one of their own had died for good.

The last time Vanja and Duncan had seen any of the others.

Duncan had flown into a rage after Galini had stopped breathing, screaming two words over and over again at Vogel as Vanja held him back, afraid that he would do something he would regret if he let him go.

_ You knew. _

Part of him knew deep down that their immortality was unlikely to last forever, but to see it happen in front of his eyes was more troublesome than he would have liked to admit. So they had left the others behind, wandering the Eurasian continent for most of the twentieth century until they amassed a little nest egg and settled down in the Netherlands. They lived five minutes away from the bookstore in a townhouse that they made their own.

On cold nights, they would curl up in front of the fireplace under a blanket that Duncan had knitted (it turned out that learning how to knit helped the centuries go by a little faster) with mugs of hot chocolate and watch bad reality TV for an hour or two before falling asleep. It was an unspoken rule between them: whoever woke up first had to make breakfast the following morning. That morning, Vanja had woken up earlier, so it was his duty to make toast and eggs for them before they headed to work. “We left for a reason, you know. If they wanted to get in contact with us, they would have by now. It’s been over a century.”

“I know,  _ ljubavi.  _ I know. Sometimes I miss them, is all.” Duncan put the book he was holding on the shelf beside him and moved to take Vanja’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. “I understand. You’re not alone in this life, though, remember? You have me. You’ll have me until life decides it’s our time.”

The chimes they had hung on the shop’s door let out a trill, alerting them that there was a customer, and they shared a quick kiss before Vanja headed to the main room to help their new patron. When he got there, however, the customer turned out to be the last person he had expected to stand in his little shop, poring over a biography of Cleopatra. “Hello, Nessun.”

“I go by Ness now.” She replied, not lifting her eyes from the page. “Makes it easier when I’m in Italy. Long time no see, Vanja. Where’s your better half?”

“ _ Duncan _ isn’t here right now.” He lied, hoping that it wasn’t obvious that he wasn’t telling the truth to someone he had known for centuries. “What are you doing here?” She closed the book with a soft  _ thud _ and stalked across the room. “We need your help. Yours, and Duncan’s.” He shook his head, trying his best not to laugh out of rage, his hands itching for a weapon, despite the fact that he had trusted Nessun-- _ Ness _ \--for so long. “You have no right to ask for our help. Besides, we don’t do that anymore. Haven’t for a hundred years. Which, now that I think about it, is just about how long ago we left.” A shake of the head. “Duncan was always a little too naive about what we are. He should have known better.”

“Maybe I should have.” Duncan’s voice split the silence in two, and they turned to see that he was armed with his dual shortswords, something Vanja hadn’t seen for ages, considering the swords in question had been in a wooden trunk for the last fifty years. When the time had come for Duncan to pick a weapon, he had chosen a set that had been taken from a crumbling castle in Hungary, the plain, leather-wrapped hilts a stark contrast to the intricately detailed blades. He had said to him afterwards in a whisper so low nobody else could hear him,  _ Only if you teach me. And only when I have to. _

His silent meaning: he wouldn’t use the swords unless he felt it was absolutely necessary. Now, it seemed, was one of those times. Duncan was a kind, gentle man, but when someone threatened the one he loved, all bets were off. Just because he hadn’t used the swords in half a century didn’t mean he had lost his touch with them. “What do you want from us.” No question was in his voice, just simmering anger. “We were contacted by an ex-Kremlin operative. Sergey Lazarev. Since he stopped spying, he’s been working to fight trafficking across the former Soviet states.”

“How do we fit into this?” A short, sharp laugh came from Ness’s mouth in response to the question Vanja posed. “Despite our best efforts, none of us have the talent for Slavic languages that you do. And, as we all know, you two are a matched set.”

It sounded as if she were talking about a pair of earrings, rather than two men who had fought and bled and  _ died  _ for each other, but her words rang true. Wherever one of them went, the other followed. “Give us a few minutes, will you?” The murderous look on Duncan’s face didn’t disappear as they walked into the back room, but he put down his swords the moment the door closed behind them. “We can’t.”

“We have to. It’s the right thing to do, Duncan, even if it’s not preferable. Remember what happened in Almaty?” He only had to close his eyes to dredge up the memory. Poachers weren’t the kind of people they normally took down, but they had always had a soft spot for animals. Perhaps they were kindred spirits of a sort. Whatever the case was, Duncan had ended up throwing one of the poachers out of a window. Taking lives wasn’t something he enjoyed.

_ Having  _ his life taken from him, though, was even worse, so he did what he had to do. “I remember. I like animals better than people, but suffering isn’t something I’ll stand for, no matter who or what it is.” He let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he had been holding. “One more job.”

“One more job.” Vanja repeated. “Kiss for luck?” They shared a kiss that lasted for a while, the things they couldn’t say with words expressing themselves through that simple action. “We better get ready. Leave the glasses behind. The whole ‘hot librarian’ thing works for me, but not for battle.”

“How do you know,  _ ljubavi moja _ ? They might be into hot librarians.” Duncan laughed and kissed him again before plucking the pair of glasses in question off of his nose. “Doubtful. Besides, it’s not like you actually need them.” They quickly packed a bag each, wrapping their blades in cloth before hiding them among the other items inside, posted on the shop’s social media that they would be closed for a week due to ‘vacation’, and joined Ness out on the sidewalk. “Where are the others?”

“Around the block.” They rounded the corner and found a rather large vehicle idling at the curb. While the windows and windshield were tinted, the arm resting on the edge of the opened window on the driver’s side was familiar enough.

Vogel was driving, it seemed.

Taking a deep breath, Vanja opened the back door and climbed inside, coming face-to-face with Ana for the first time in a century and a half. “You look good for someone who’s spent decades surrounded by books.” She murmured, barely glancing up at him before turning back to sharpening an arrowhead. “Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.” He felt Duncan’s hand slip into his, instantly relaxing at the touch, before turning his attention to Vogel. “So, where are we going,  _ boss _ ?”

“Belarus.” She replied, starting the engine. “Brush up if you have to.” He held back a snort of laughter; it might have been years since he had used the language, but one advantage of immortal life was that you never forgot a language once you learned it.

_ Brushing up _ was for mortals.

Once they reached the airfield, he suddenly felt anxiety wash over him; he hadn’t been out of the country for months, and even when he and Duncan went on trips out of the Netherlands, they took the train or drove, largely out of his fear of flying. “I’m with you.” Duncan whispered in his ear, noticing how rigid his body language had become. “We’re going to be alright.” Even when they were going on a mission, Duncan could be a softie, making sure that the one he loved felt safe. “Thank you,  _ ljubavi _ . I’m glad I have you with me.”

Even with Duncan by his side, it didn’t stop the butterflies in his stomach from doing loops as the plane taxied off the runway and rose into the sky. “Let me guess. We’re landing in Lithuania and crossing the border illegally through a forest.”

“Good guess.” Vogel commented drily, cleaning the barrel of a rifle. “You haven’t changed a bit, Vanja. You still know plans like nobody else. Still afraid of flying, too.” The last part was meant to be teasing, but it came off as harsh to Vanja’s ears, so he decided to fight fire with fire. “So what if I am? You’re still afraid of spiders, aren’t you?” Just him saying  _ the s word  _ made Vogel shudder. “Don’t say that word.”

“Then don’t mention my fears.” They spent most of the flight in silence, the only breaks in the quiet being when they discussed the mission plan. Break into the warehouse, rescue the victims, get them to a rendezvous point, and get out before they could be spotted. Then, back over the border and to the next flight out of the country. Simple.

But, like most things, there were snags.

Fatal ones.


	3. Chapter 3

“It’s cold.” Ana murmured, kicking a rock out of her path as they trudged through the snow. “It’s winter, and we’re in a forest. What else would you expect?” Even as he spoke, Duncan’s teeth started chattering slightly. He wasn’t exactly used to such cold weather himself. When it came to winter, he stayed inside as much as possible, and on the rare occasions he had to go outside, he always had one of his cable-knit scarves wrapped around his neck. It was one of the many ways he kept Vanja close to him; whenever he made a new scarf, he would ask his love what colours he should knit it in. 

The scarf he was thinking about at the moment was dark blue, woven with strands of glittery golden yarn, like a knit jewel. The blue, Vanja had said, reminded him of the Adriatic, the gold for the sand of the shores. At first, it was meant to be a gift for him, but after he had finished the scarf he had found that he had grown too attached to it to part with it. It was a reminder of Vanja, but in scarf form.

Unfortunately, the gold strands were too reflective for stealth, so he had reluctantly left the scarf behind, trading it for a thick wool turtleneck under his military jacket. “How much longer?” He asked, narrowly dodging a fallen tree branch. Ness checked the portable GPS she was carrying. “Two kilometers. You’ll live.”

“If I don’t die of hypothermia, that is.” His breath came out in puffs of smoke, making him look very much like an anthropomorphic dragon. He soon felt a familiar weight in his palm, and glanced down to see Vanja’s hand in his. “I’ll keep you warm,  _ ljubavi _ . Don’t you worry.” Vanja knew holding his hand wouldn’t give him  _ that _ much more physical warmth, but hopefully it would keep his heart a little warmer.

Besides, he liked holding hands with Duncan, no matter where they were.

A short while later, they reached their destination, which was, oddly enough, unguarded by anyone, human or fence alike. “I don’t like this. Where are the guards?” Vogel reached for the pistol holstered at her waist. “Stay alert. They might be on a coffee break--or they could be waiting to ambush us once we get inside.” The others drew their respective weapons: Ana, her compound bow; Ness, her rifle; and Vanja and Duncan, their swords. Five seconds counted down, and they busted into the place, on high alert for anyone they might have had to fight.

But there was nobody there--no guards, no traffickers, and, most importantly, no trafficking victims. “What the actual hell.” Footsteps sounded alarmingly close to them, six figures in body armour and wielding assault rifles sweeping into the room a split second later. Vanja barely had time to shove Duncan behind him in a futile attempt to protect him before the shooting started, a dozen bullets hitting him in the chest. A gasp escaped his mouth before he fell to the ground, blood pooling around him, his life slowly coming to an end. It was painful. It was terrible.

And yet, somehow, he felt alive again as he died for the first time in over a century.

The world went black for what felt like a few minutes, and when he came to, he saw Duncan lying next to him, his face covered in blood, eyes wide open. Above them, the shooters had come closer to their bodies and were checking for pulses on the others. Duncan blinked once as they lay there healing, part of the silent language they had developed over the years.

One blink meant  _ Do we fight now _ ?

Two blinks, which is what Vanja replied with, meant  _ Now or never _ . Their wounds healed, they grabbed their weapons and did what they had spent years trying to escape.

They fought, two people becoming one whirling storm of death, their swords cutting through their killers’ body armour like it was paper. Both of them were thinking the same thing: these people had hurt the person they loved the most in this world, something that was unforgivable, something that had to be punished with death. The others had gotten up as well, having healed, but they had no need to join the fight; it was over in a matter of minutes. For a moment, nobody spoke, just staring at the two men, who were still pressed back-to-back in a defensive stance, blades stained scarlet. Then:

“This was a fucking setup.”

A quick glance around the space showed no signs of trafficking victims ever being there. One thing caught Vogel’s eye: a camera mounted in one of the corners of the room, blinking red, tracking their every move. She let out a battle cry before hurling a knife into the lens and destroying it, then turned around, her rage seeping off of her. “We have to get out of here. There’s tracks a kilometer away. We up for running?”

“Something tells me we don’t have much of a choice.” They made it to the tracks without a single glance back, hopping into an empty car on a freight train. It was warmer than the outside, but not by much, and as Vanja poured water onto a cloth and started scrubbing the blood off of his face, he winced at the cold. “Let me.” Duncan murmured, taking the cloth from him and getting a spot he had missed. “Very romantic of you.” Even so, he did the same for him, being as gentle as he could as he took care of his curly hair. “I hate headshots.” He said, wincing as he rubbed a sore spot on the back of his head. “Feels like part of my brain disappears every time.”

“Want me to kiss it better?” It made Duncan laugh and nod slightly, Vanja pressing a kiss to his love’s temple in response, smiling gently at him afterwards. “Much better. Hey, Vogel, where is this train even going?” Her eyes flickered over to them for a moment before she responded. “Somewhere in Poland. Get some rest. Something tells me we’re going to need it.” With that, she pulled her bag up so it rested under her head and turned over. “Hold me, will you?” Vanja murmured, switching to Dutch so they wouldn’t be understood. “I need some love after that ordeal.”

He wrapped Vanja up in an embrace, his back pressed to his chest, and took one of his hands in his own, letting their fingers entwine. Even through the layers of heavy fabric, he could feel the steady beat of his heart, one of the few noises that could make him calm in a situation like this. “I will hold you whenever you want me to.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but Vanja could hear him loud and clear as he spoke. “Just stay by my side,  _ liefje _ . Until life decides it’s our time.”

“Until life decides it’s our time.” He repeated, holding back a yawn, which made Duncan smile a bit. Vanja was cute when he was sleepy. “ _ Slaap lekker, liefje. _ ”

“ _ Laku noć, moja ljubavi. _ ” Their bodies pressed together, they quickly fell asleep--but soon enough, a dream came to both of them. No, not just both of them.

_ All  _ of them.

Of a young woman being hit by a car, being rushed into the emergency room with a dozen broken bones and a heart that had stopped beating for five minutes--until it slowly, ever so slowly, started again. Her bones healing in a matter of seconds.

Vanja gasped, inhaling sharply as he bolted awake and out of Duncan’s embrace, adrenaline coursing through his veins, two words running through his head.  _ Not now, not now, not now. _

_ Not another one of them. _

_ Not another person to find and protect. _

_ Not another excuse to return to this life. _

The others had also woken, all from the exact same dream, Ness immediately starting to sketch a rough portrait of the new immortal in the little notebook she had carried for centuries. “Green eyes. Blonde. Did anyone get the license plate of the car that hit her?”

“It was a US plate. Couldn’t make out the state, though.” Ana replied as she loosened her hold on the bow she always had on standby. Some people hugged pillows, but Ana hugged her bow.

Duncan eventually spoke up, quietly asking the one question he had wanted to for centuries. “There hasn’t been another one of us since I died for the first time, has there?” All eyes in the train car turned to look at him, but it was Vanja, his sweet Vanja, who looked absolutely terrified and full of rage at the same time, who answered. “No. There hasn’t been. And we won’t be helping you find her. We agreed on one more job, and we did it. It’s time for us to go our separate ways once again.”

It was as if Vanja had taken one of his swords and shoved it into his stomach. Duncan immediately felt sick at his words--it was true that they had only agreed to do one more job, even though he hadn’t wanted to leave the place they called home in the first place, but to leave one of their own by herself?

It went against everything he believed.

And just this once, he was going to disagree with his love. “It’s not right, Vanja. We need to take care of our own.” Vanja’s eyes turned dark at the same moment his expression did. “ _ Have you gone  _ mad _?” _

The question made him angry, angrier than he had been in a while, but he managed to collect himself before he answered the question. “No, Vanja. I haven’t. I  _ remember  _ what it was like to drown over and over again. To realise that death would no longer come to me for good. To wake up screaming before there was someone there to calm me, to scream and feel water rushing into my lungs before blacking out for what felt like the millionth time. But above all that, I remember being  _ afraid. _ She’s probably as afraid as I was. And I don’t want that to happen to anyone again. Ever. So we’re not going our separate ways just yet. We’re going to the States. We’re finding her, and we’re going to help her.”

“Fine.” Vanja finally said after a few terse moments of silence. “But after that…”


	4. Chapter 4

Two days later, they landed at a private airstrip just outside of Washington, DC, the dreams getting more and more vivid as they got closer to the newest immortal. Her resurrection, in all the chaos, it seemed, had been passed off as a young person’s body healing faster than normal, not anything to raise hell over. “When’s the last time any of us were here?”

“Never.” Came four voices in response to Ness’s question. “We’ve never been to this country. Probably for a reason. It’s never felt like a good place to be, and with their political system the way it is, it’s even more so.” It was loud, louder and more packed than anywhere they had ever been, which made it easy to blend in, at least, but it also made small slip-ups more possible. If any of them lost their guard, even for a second, it could be a risky thing. “Where are we headed?”

“One of the local universities. She’s a graduate student in the linguistics department.” Even though they had had to practically smuggle themselves into the country to avoid getting their weapons taken from them, it had been a quick flight, and Vanja was grateful for it. There was just one problem, though. “We’re not going to be able to get into the city with all of this.” He said, gesturing to his and Duncan’s swords, Ana’s bow, and Ness’s rifle. “There’s a safehouse in the suburbs. We’ll leave most of it there. Leave the swords behind, get some daggers.”

Vogel, unfortunately, was right, and because of that Vanja found himself with a dagger strapped to his leg, the blade just a single grab away. A trip on the metro later, they were in the city and on the university campus. “I’d thought we’d be getting some weird looks, but then I remembered we all look pretty young. Looks like it paid off to die at twenty-five, after all.” Duncan making a joke about his first death was unexpected, and made Vanja slightly worried. Normally, he didn’t like to talk about it, and when he did, it was accompanied by pain. When he voiced his concern in a whisper, Duncan shrugged.

“I think that, maybe, finding a new one has put things into perspective. That it’s time to move past the pain of drowning that first time. Besides,  _ liefje _ , I have you with me to keep the pain of it away.” As they continued their walk towards the building where the linguistics department was housed, Vanja took hold of his love’s hand, not wanting to let him go. “I’ll be with you until the end of our time.” They shared a smile before Ana coughed loudly. “We’re on a mission, can you two stop being in love for five minutes?”

“No. If I’m not in love with him, there is no point.”

They had never gotten married, never exchanged rings, but they didn’t feel they had to. It was clear that, after three centuries of being together, there was nobody else either one of them would rather be with. Just saying the words  _ I love you _ could make one of them happy when things were looking bad.

“Come on. Stay focused, you two.” Vogel muttered before opening the main door to the building, where they were met with a swirl of languages even Vanja couldn’t pick apart. “Split up. We’ll probably find her faster that way.”

And so they split up, settling into a familiar pattern: Vanja and Duncan went together, naturally, leaving the others to conduct their own search. “You know, if I had been born into this time, I wouldn’t mind going to university and doing something with languages. What about you?” Vanja shrugged as they paced the corridors and glanced into rooms. “I think maybe I’d study psychology. It’s been eight hundred years since I was born, and yet there’s still so much I don’t understand about the mind. Why people are the way they are.”

“Why people fall in love?” Duncan asked half-teasingly, giving him a smile that made his heart melt. A smile that was only for him. “Sure. That, too. Sometimes I wonder--if we had been born in the same era, if we hadn’t been what we are, would we have found each other? Would we have fallen in love and grown old together, no matter what society said about us?”

“I think the universe would have brought us together, some way or another. We probably would have ended up as a footnote in the history books about two men who ‘were lifelong friends, never married, and lived together until their deaths’, knowing the way things go. You know, before you found me, I had dreams about you.” Vanja tore his gaze from the classroom he was looking into to look at his love. “That’s how it normally works, isn’t it?”

“There was more to it than that. It was about the fifth time that I’d woken up from drowning again, and as I tried to get to the surface, I saw your face. And, I don’t know why, but something about seeing you made me want to try and survive. So that maybe I could be with you.” He was about to continue, but stopped in his tracks, staring straight ahead. “Look.”

They were standing mere meters away from the newest immortal, who was carrying a pile of books and looked to be in a rush. “Pull the fire alarm.”

_ “What?!” _

“Trust me. Do it.” Vanja sighed and stepped around the corner, flipping open the little box and pulling down the lever, an earsplitting whistle sounding through the building a second after. “Go after her. Be subtle.” Duncan was going to make a  _ subtle is my middle name  _ joke, but decided against it, and headed after her, ignoring the urge to cover his ears at the noise.

“Hey, wait up!” He called, jogging to catch up with her, inventing a backstory as he did so. “Does this happen often? I transferred last month, and I’m not still used to campus.” The two of them got outside, where the alarm’s noise was thankfully less annoying, before she replied. “This building, yeah. Sometimes I think that people are doing it on...purpose.” As she fully saw Duncan’s face, her jaw dropped. “Who the hell are you, and why have I seen you in my dreams?”

It was time for him to start talking, and fast. “My name’s Duncan. Look. I’ve been where you are. Well, not hit by a car, but I’ve died, too. A lot. There are more like us, and we can help you understand what’s happening.”

What happened next took him by surprise. She threw a book at his head, which he easily dodged, and started running in the opposite direction. “Fuck. We’ve got a runner.” Thankfully, he had accepted the comms that Ana had offered, so it was only a matter of time before the others were in pursuit as well. “We’re not trying to hurt you!”

“Then why are you following me?!” She shot back, not slowing down. “Look, I’ll stab myself if it proves we’re not trying to hurt you.” That made her stop in her tracks and turn around to see Vanja stab himself in the shoulder with his dagger, then taking it out, letting the wound heal in a matter of seconds. “We’re like you. Will you hear us out, now that I’ve drawn my own blood?”

Back at their suburban safehouse, the new immortal, whose name was Josie, it turned out, listened to what they had to say. How they were all centuries old and that, as of the day her immortality had snapped into place, she would no longer age. “So, what now? I’m not a fighter--I’ve got my freaking  _ dissertation _ due in five months! You don’t expect me to dump my life and join you, do you? Because that’s _ not  _ happening. Are you going to let me leave?”

“If you want to. Look--we had to at least warn you about who you’ve become. If you ever need help...” Ness pressed a simple business card into her hand, one that had only a phone number on it. “Call us. And good luck with your dissertation.”

Josie stared down at the card in her palm, then glanced back up and nodded once. “Sure. Thanks. And good luck with...whatever it is you do.” As she walked out of the house and towards the car that had been called to take her back to the city, she couldn’t help but feel that something was off about the entire thing.

Then she heard the screams.


	5. Chapter 5

Just moments after Josie had left, the back of the house had seemingly exploded, sending a shower of plaster and dust throughout the place. Immediately, Vanja grabbed his swords and looked to make sure Duncan was alright (he was, there was just debris in his hair) before he charged forward, ready to kill whoever was attacking them now.

It was a mistake.

The moment he got outside, someone grabbed him from behind, pressing a cloth over his nose and mouth, attempting to drug him.

And, unless he managed to break free, it was going to work.

Drugs, they had found over the centuries, especially anaesthetics, were one of the only things they  _ couldn’t  _ build tolerances to.

Alcohol? No problem.

Caffeine? It took six shots of espresso for him to even get a slight buzz.

So when he got a whiff of the chloroform, it set off a panic response, adrenaline coursing through his body, and he did the first thing that came to mind: throwing his head back in the hopes it would break the nose of his assailant. Judging by the groan that came from behind him, it had worked, and he drove a sword into their gut for good measure. Then three more came, and even with his centuries of experience, he was unlikely to be able to kill them all in time to escape. The gas that was coming from the house didn’t help, either.

_ “Vanja!” _

Hearing Duncan scream his name made two things happen.

First, another wave of adrenaline came. Then, he panicked, because Duncan being there meant he was in danger. He had barely opened his mouth to shout for him to run before a gunshot went off and he fell to the ground as pain washed over him, blood spreading out from the wound, the sound of Duncan screaming for him over and over again gradually fading away, and then everything went black.

When he came to, he was on the floor of a vehicle that was in motion, his wrists bound by a pair of handcuffs, jackbooted thugs surrounding him. Next to him was Duncan, eyes closed, face bruised and battered, a sight that made rage rush through him. He kept it down, though, and murmured,  _ “Ljubavi, probudi te.” _

“Hey, shut up.” One of the thugs snapped. “Please.” Vanja wasn’t one to beg, but in this case, he had to. “I need to see if he’s alright.  _ Ljubavi, probudi te. _ ” He repeated, shaking his shoulder as gently as he could, praying to God that his love was alright.

“ _ Het gaat goed, mijn liefje. _ ”

When he heard him whisper those words, he choked back a sob, moving to help him sit up as best as he could. He was alive. His joy, however, was fleeting--they were still captive, and they didn’t know who had taken them or why.

“I  _ said,  _ shut up. What is he, your boyfriend?” As the other mercenaries in the vehicle laughed, Vanja glared at them, saying with absolute certainty, “You know  _ nothing _ of who he is to me. How long have you lived? Thirty years? We have been together for  _ centuries. _ He is the one constant in my life. The only person who can make me happy when the world is seemingly against me. The only one I can trust to have my back through thick and thin. He is the one I am meant to be with until the end of my days. He is where I belong, and the reason that I look forward to each and every day. He is  _ not  _ my boyfriend.”

He turned to face Duncan, looking straight into his eyes, as he finished, “He is the light of my life, and I cannot imagine living without him.” Even though they were uncertain about where they were or who had taken them, the light of his life gave him a smile as bright as the moon. “God, you’re such a hopeless romantic.” He murmured, and kissed him deeply, as if they were the only ones in the world.

“That’s enough!”

They were roughly yanked apart a few seconds after, but the action was enough to give Vanja the strength he needed. As the vehicle stopped, his heart started beating faster and he got ready to break his thumb (or a few heads) to get them out of this situation.

They had stopped at an airfield, but not the same one where they had gotten into the country. Waiting for them on the tarmac, next to what looked to be a private jet, was a man neither of them had ever met in person but recognised immediately from the picture Vogel had shown them.  _ “Lazarev.”  _ Duncan hissed, baring his teeth. The Russian looked them over, a flicker of recognition showing in his eyes, before he turned to one of the mercenaries holding them back. “Get them on the plane, and drug them if you have to.”

“ _ Nice plane. Who’s it belong to? _ ” Vanja switched to Russian in a heartbeat, locking eyes with the man who had hurt his love. His enemy--because, unless there was a giant plot twist, that was what the Russian  _ was  _ to him--hesitated before he gave a short, two-word answer. “ _ My employer. _ ” Inside, the plane was quite plush, but neither one of them was going to be placated by a bit of luxury. After all, these were two men who had spent decades in a humble little bookshop. “Oh, good, there’s a TV. I missed the latest episode of  _ Wie is de Mol _ .”

_ Meanwhile… _

“They have Vanja and Duncan.” Vogel swore in a language nobody on the planet had spoken in a millennium as she kicked over a fragment of table. “This is all my fault. I should have never brought them into this.”

“You couldn’t have known, Vogel.”

The words were meant to be reassuring, but they just made her angrier. “I SHOULD HAVE!” She finally screamed, her face flushing with rage. “I should have known humans were as shitty as they were when Rome was still an empire. I should have known it was too good to be true. And now look where we are. They’re in danger, and we have no idea where they’ve been taken. Or, for that matter, who has them.” The front door creaked open and Ana quickly raised her bow, lowering it only slightly when Josie came through it. “Why are you still here? You could have been killed.”

Josie took a deep breath before she spoke five words that had the older immortals shocked. “I know who took them.”


	6. Chapter 6

The man who was behind Sergey Lazarev’s betrayal of them, the one who had ordered Vanja and Duncan to be kidnapped, was none other than pharmaceutical CEO Filipp Kirkorov. Terrifying to some, enigmatic to others, Kirkorov had been pushing the boundaries of science for decades, with only one goal in mind: expanding the human lifespan, going so far as to attempt to make humanity immortal. So it was no surprise that, when he caught a whiff of who they were and what they could do, he wanted to test it out for himself.

If it were true, then he would get test subjects and see if their secrets could be replicated. And once he had an immortal in his lab, it was unlikely they would ever see the light of day again. After all, there were thousands of lab animals that had not come back out of that lab.

“Wait.” Ness waved a hand to indicate she had questions. “How do you know this?” Josie winced, but answered the question anyway. “About a year ago, Kirkorov Pharma was offering scholarships for ‘people with extraordinary abilities’. I applied, thinking that speaking six languages counted, but never got a call back. I did some research, and found out that all of the people who got the scholarships got them for  _ physical  _ abilities. It was suspicious as hell. So I did some research. After those scholarships were given out, nobody ever heard from the recipients ever again.”

“Gods.”

“There are no gods. Not anymore.” Vogel murmured, then turned back to Josie. “Where would he have taken them?”

_ Across the globe, in Moscow, Russia… _

The penthouse apartment was modern and opulently decorated, as to suit the tastes of a billionaire CEO. So when a group of armed mercenaries came in through the elevator, herding two men whose clothes were riddled with bullet holes and bloodstains, it shattered the image fairly quickly. The man who was looking out the floor-to-ceiling window at the skyline turned around, a sinister smile on his face to match the ridiculously complex beard he had. “Gentlemen, you have no idea how good it is to finally meet you.”

“You must be Lazarev’s employer. To be honest, I have no idea who the hell you are.” Vanja spat, disgusted. “Ah, forgive me for not introducing myself. My name is Filipp Kirkorov. Perhaps you’ve heard of my pharmaceutical company. If you haven’t, that’s fine. You two, and the rest of your cohorts, have an extraordinary gift. I plan to find what that gift is and make it a commodity.”

“Just because we don’t exist on the record doesn’t mean you can lock us up in your lab and take whatever it is you’re planning on taking.” Kirkorov merely laughed, taking a knife with a wickedly serrated blade from one of the goons before he spoke again. “What makes you think I care about the law?”

Without a single warning, he plunged the blade into Vanja’s side, making him cry out in pain, Duncan trying to surge forward to attack Kirkorov for hurting him. As the blade was removed and the wound healed, Kirkorov smiled again. “Thank you for the demonstration. I do hope this is only the start. Take them away.”

Vanja made sure to get as much blood as possible on the pristine marble floors as they were taken out of the penthouse and back into the elevator, if only to make a point, his side still smarting from the wound. “ _ He’s dead.” _ Duncan whispered, glaring at the man who was responsible for their captive state even after the elevator doors closed. “ _ I swear, when we get out of here-”  _ He stopped talking after Vanja shook his head slightly at him, realising that he was that close to having given away the plan they had already begun to formulate in their heads.

They would let Kirkorov’s scientists take their genetic material for a while. Blood and tissue were things they could easily regenerate. When the time was right, they would strike--and show no mercy.

Unsurprisingly, when they were taken into a lab, the first thing that their captors did after giving them clean, unbloodied clothes was restrain them, binding their arms and legs to the medical beds they were shoved into. “You know, if you wanted to tie me up, all you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up.” The guard snapped back at Duncan’s pseudo-flirtatious remark. “You’re not going to be making jokes after the scientists start getting their hands on you, pretty boy.” He managed not to flinch at the comment, knowing that his fear of needles was going to be overwhelming in a few moments, and instead looked over at Vanja, who he could tell was ready to kill everyone in the room the second he got free.

_ We’re going to be okay as long as we’re together,  _ he thought to himself, trying to project the thought over to his love as well _. _ Their gift might have been immortality, not telepathy, but there had always been a sort of mental link between them. One of them could give the other a single glance that had more meaning than a minute of speech.

As the guards cleared out, presumably for the scientists to come into the room and start their experiments, they were, for the first time in days, alone together. Both of them knew that they were being monitored, so they spoke carefully. “You were right, you know. It was probably a bad idea to take one more job.”

“Probably?  _ Probably?!  _ Rather than a nice, quiet day with you in the shop, I’m stuck in a lab about to get the worst medical examination in the history of medicine.”

“So am I! This is the worst date ever.” Vanja’s sarcasm cut through the otherwise-quiet room like a knife, and, despite the situation, it made Duncan laugh. “Can’t be worse than that time in Tirana when you set the curtains on fire.” It had been an accident (and thirty years ago), but he still thought it was funny that Vanja had managed to burn the curtains, rather than dinner. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” He said with a laugh, managing to shake his head. “I didn’t complain when you burned the bread last week.”

“Vanja, curtains and bread are two  _ very  _ different things.” He noticed his hand twitching at his side, not understanding why it  _ was _ twitching until Vanja spoke again. “I haven’t gone this long without having physical contact with you for centuries. Muscle memory, I guess.” His own hand curled into a fist, feeling his pulse rise with every second that passed. “When we get out of here, I’m not letting you go for a year at  _ least _ . Maybe two. We’re taking a real vacation. I’m thinking we go to Singapore.”

Before Vanja could say anything more, the main door to the lab opened and a dark-haired woman in a lab coat stepped in, a tray of medical implements in her hands, two others behind her. “Don’t stop talking on my account.” She said in Russian. “Pardon us if we don’t feel like talking after you take our blood and who knows what else from us.” Vanja replied in the same language, and, much to his surprise, she laughed. “Blood is the least I’m taking from you. You have a secret. And I want to find out what makes you  _ tick. _ ”

What followed was the worst day of their lives. The scientists tormenting them had decided that, because they healed almost instantly, no anaesthetic was necessary, not caring about whatever pain they felt. First came the needles for blood samples, pricking their veins over and over again. Then the skin samples, taken with wickedly sharp scalpels that didn’t draw blood but left their skin red and raw before it regenerated.

It stopped at night, allowing them to rest, or at least try to, but in the morning the torture began yet again. Duncan, to his credit, had managed to be brave, to not wince at each new pain that came to him, but when a huge needle was put into his hip to draw bone marrow, he let out a scream.

A scream that reminded Vanja so much of the screams of pain that had been uttered centuries ago when he had woken up after being rescued from the lake that every instinct he had to stay calm was thrown out the window. The plan was abandoned immediately, and he did the one thing he had promised himself he would never do again.

He snapped, letting his rage take over his mind and adrenaline flood through his veins, enough to give him the strength to break the bindings on his arms. They had been foolish enough to leave a scalpel within reach, and he flung it into the back of the doctor who had just taken the needle out of Duncan’s body, the syringe of bone marrow dropping to the floor and shattering, a splash of crimson marring the white floor. The other doctors tried to pin him down again, but he was in such a state of anger that they were no match for him.

One of them got a broken neck.

The other got a pair of scissors in the chest.

As he quickly pulled the restraints off of his legs and got to his feet, the doctor he had thrown the scalpel at was struggling to lift her head from the floor. “You hurt my beloved. You shouldn’t have done that.” A twist of the blade and she was dead. Breathing heavily, he turned his attention to the one he had done it all for. “ _ Ljubavi _ ?”

“It hurts, Vanja.” Duncan’s voice was nearly a whimper as he tried to reach out for him. “It hurts so much.” Never before had he admitted he was in physical pain, not like this. It made Vanja even more angry, but he managed to hold back the rage to get the restraints off of his love and help him get to his feet, being careful to avoid the fragments of glass. “I know it hurts, but we have to get out of here. Can you run?” He took a step, wincing at the slight pain from his hip, one that quickly faded to a dull pressure. “I think so.” Another step, and his determination was back. “Life hasn’t decided it’s our time yet.”

“No. It hasn’t. We need weapons. There are going to be people to fight any minute.” Their eyes darted around the room, taking stock of what there was to use. A single handgun that had been stashed away in a drawer (for whatever reason, they didn’t want to know) and a fire axe were the best options they had. “I hate guns.”

“So do I, but it’s all we have to work with,  _ mijn liefje _ .” Duncan took the handgun, noting that eight bullets were all he had to protect them. He had done more with less in the past. “It’s either we fight and get out or we get captured again. I think our chances are pretty good, as long as they don’t use space cake.”

Vanja bit back a grin at what he said--rather than let their enemies know that their tolerance to drugs was weak if they managed to catch their conversation, he used code. It was a reference to the time that he’d accidentally eaten marijuana-laced baked goods that a customer had given them and spent an afternoon gleefully petting every cat he could find, much to Duncan’s amusement. “This is a no-space cake zone, I think. Ready?”

He nodded, and they moved forward, out of the side door of the lab, rather than the main doors; it was more likely that the main doors would be either guarded or impossible to crack without tech.

They preferred books for a reason.

Surprisingly, the hallway they found themselves in was empty, but there was a camera facing the other direction. “Stairs?” Edging the door to the stairwell open, they heard no voices or footsteps, so they quickly got in and went down sixteen flights of stairs. “Ow, my ribs hurt.” Vanja panted as they got to the ground floor.

“Better your ribs than your hip.” Duncan murmured. Even though most of the pain from the bone marrow withdrawal was gone, it still felt off. He peeked around the corner to make sure the coast was clear before taking a step forward. “When’s the last time we were in Moscow?” Even with his sharp, immortal mind, the dates tended to run together. “Probably around the time the Romanovs were still in power. It’s changed a  _ lot _ .”

“One thing hasn’t.” Vanja had stolen  _ back  _ a horse from a rich man who had stolen it from  _ him  _ in 1875 and spent a week in prison before his family had gotten him out--and he had made a friend during his time there, a valuable one. Even over a hundred and thirty years later, his connections were going to help them. “Time to call in a favour.”

An hour later, they were in a safehouse that was under mob protection, sipping tea as Vanja’s friend--or, rather, his great-grandson, who, Vanja swore, was the spitting image of the man who he had rescued from prison in the nineteenth century--barked orders into the phone. “My men have their orders. Kirkorov had no power in our world to begin with, but now he’ll have no chance at all of doing business with us.”

“Thank you, Alexey.” Vanja replied, bowing his head slightly. “I’m glad I’ve kept in touch with your family throughout the years.” Alexey smirked, giving him a glance that was somewhat unreadable. He was known as the Sparrow for a reason, apart from his surname. He never made the same move twice. “You rescued my great-grandfather from hell and certain death even though you could have left him behind. You know the rules. That constitutes a life debt, and you’ve had a very,  _ very _ long life, my friend. Long enough for four generations of the Vorobyev clan to owe you whenever you come knocking. Are there any more calls to be made?”

“One.” Duncan hadn’t said anything since they had arrived at the safehouse, so to hear him speak now made Vanja jump. “We need to let them know.”


	7. Chapter 7

The others, it turned out, were already in Moscow. That was the first surprise they got when they managed to get ahold of them. The second was that Josie was with them. “I thought you had your dissertation?” Duncan asked, quirking an eyebrow when he noticed that there were four women coming through the door, rather than three.

“Just ten more pages to write. Besides, free trip to Russia.” Noting the way the bow across her back was being eyed, she sheepishly added, “Guess all those archery lessons as a kid are finally going to pay off. How did you escape?” They exchanged a look, Vanja eventually replying, “I did the one thing I promised myself I would never do again.” He left it at that; there was no need to explain his anger exploding after centuries of calm. “Never mind that.” Vogel said, understanding exactly what he meant. “Kirkorov needs to be taken down. The only question is, how?”

“Alexey offered to help us, but I told him this was personal. He just laughed and said to tell him when we did it so the fallout can be contained.” He sighed, shaking his head a bit, before he told them what he felt they had to do. “I think...we need to convince Lazarev to join our side.” Instead of outright protesting, they thought about it, their minds attacking the problem like it was a physical battle. “Everyone has a motive. We need to figure out his. Why would he work for someone like Kirkorov?” Ness asked, pretzeling her legs together as she sat down. “What do we know about him?”

Every eye in the room turned to Vogel, who sighed. “He’s young, early thirties at most. Ex-Kremlin, as I’ve said before. Used to be married, but his wife died. Some rare blood disorder that went undiagnosed until it was too late for treatment, so the only option was to give her painkillers until she died.”

It hit them all at the same moment, but it was Ness who spoke first. “He turned us over to Kirkorov because he didn’t want anyone to die like his wife did.” She muttered, unable to look Vanja or Duncan in the eye; it was  _ them  _ who had gotten the worse end of the stick, after all. “Just because he lost his wife didn’t give him the right to do that to me. To  _ us _ .” Vanja hissed, remembering what had been done to his beloved. Remembering the screams of centuries past alongside the screams he had heard hours ago.

“He did it out of some weird form of love. It’s almost sweet, until you remember what he  _ did _ .” Ana shook her head in disgust. “I say we use him to get what we want and then throw him into the Gobi Desert so he can think about his life choices.” It elicited a laugh from the rest, which was surprising, given the line of work they were in and what they were discussing. A knock on the door startled them enough to get weapons out, Vanja thankful to have his swords back as one of Alexey’s men herded whoever had dared knock on the door of a mob safehouse into the room. “ _ He says he wants to speak to you. _ ”

He could hardly believe his eyes. Standing there was Sergey Lazarev. If it weren’t for Duncan’s hand barely touching his, he would have flown across the room and decapitated the Russian. He settled for snarling,  _ “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now.” _

“Because I can help you kill Kirkorov.” He answered Vanja’s question in English, presumably so the others could understand him, no nervousness in his voice, surprisingly. “I have my regrets for helping him. For taking his money. I thought your gift could help people. People like-”

“Your dead wife.” Duncan finished the sentence flatly. “Did you ever think about how she would feel about you helping to kidnap and torture people, even if a cure for her illness somehow came from it?” Lazarev opened his mouth to speak, but Duncan wasn’t finished. “Who do you think you are to play God with my life? With his? With any of ours?”

“I regret it all. You made me regret it. I was watching on the cameras when they put that needle into your hip. When he went mad to protect you from any further harm after he heard you scream. I remembered how, even with the painkillers, my wife would scream like that as she was dying. Please. I know my word must not be worth much to you, but I want to help you. I can get you back into the Kirkorov Pharma building. To kill him and save the other one before it is too late.”

“What other one?” Vogel snapped, reaching for her gun out of habit. “There’s only us. There used to be another, but she died a century ago.” What he said next made her want to faint. “Did she?”

_ It couldn’t be. _

They had all watched Galini die, had watched her bleed out, had tried to stop the bleeding but ended up with nothing but bloodstained hands and shock. To hear that she was somehow still alive made them horrified and amazed at the same time. “How?”

It wasn’t Lazarev who answered, but Vogel, surprising tiredness in her voice. “Galini was the most ancient. Not me. When she found me, two millennia had passed since she first died. For some reason, though, she asked me to play at being the eldest. Maybe out of vanity. Whatever the case, I thought she was already dying by the time we were in Odessa. She had started coughing up blood. There was no point, she said, so I let her die. Or, I thought I did. How is she alive, Lazarev?”

“As far as I know, the healing took too slowly, so you thought she was dead and left her. Kirkorov found her thirty years ago and has been experimenting on her ever since. She went mad after the last decade. I don’t know how she’s alive, but if anyone is able to save her, it’s you.”

“Madness changes people in ways that can’t be undone. Not even we can fix a mind that’s been shattered like you say hers has been.” Ana’s statement was cold, but it was the truth. They were no miracle workers.

“If we don’t try, we’ll never know if we  _ can _ .” Duncan spoke up, fighting the urge to hold Vanja’s hand to calm his nerves. “What’s your plan, if you have one? Answer carefully. If it involves us going back there under the pretenses of being recaptured, it’s a hard no from me.” There was no way he was going back into that hellhole, and neither were any of the others. “It doesn’t. We’re going to draw him out of his safe zone. Make him think he has the upper hand, and then you can do whatever you want with him before we rescue her. How do you feel about Yekaterinburg?”

The irony. Yekaterinburg was where the Romanovs had been killed, where the last tsar of the Russian empire had met his demise. It was as good a place as any for an enemy to meet his end. “Not a bad choice at all.”

“Good. I have contacts there. It will make for a good revenge, at the very least.”


	8. Chapter 8

Blood had been spilled before in Yekaterinburg.

By the day’s end, more would be spilled, but not as much as before. Just the blood of one man, if it all went well. If others got in the way, they would have theirs spilled, too. This time, there were no riches to be had, no wars to be fought, nobody to answer to but themselves.

Well, technically they would have to answer to the Russian government, but that was only if they got caught.

The plan was simple: lure Kirkorov to the outskirts, where Lazarev would fake having captured Vanja and Duncan. The others would take out the inevitable backup, leaving the playing field more equal than it would have been otherwise--and leaving more than enough chance for him to meet his demise.

The morning of, after a hastily eaten breakfast, Duncan stepped outside of the safehouse (this one run by the Sparrow’s grandmother, whose looks were definitely deceiving) to search for Vanja, who hadn’t shown up at the dining table. He eventually found him a few paces away from the house, sitting up in the branches of an oak tree three meters above the ground, lips moving in a silent prayer. He saw him glance down, his face flushing when their eyes met. “Did I interrupt you?” Vanja shook his head once, fidgeting with something in his hands. “I was just about finished. Come up, the weather’s great.” A short climb later, he was seated next to him, and could finally see what was in his hands: the cross that had been around his neck ever since they had met. “I haven’t seen you pray in a while.”

“Normally, I pray before you’re even awake.” He replied as he put the cross back on. “It’s funny. When I first discovered I was immortal, I went through a period where I questioned what was real, if my faith was deserved. Now, though...it keeps me centered. Believing in something bigger than myself, bigger than us, it helps. And we could use all the help we can get today.” Duncan hadn’t thought about a higher power in centuries, literally, but his love’s logic made sense. Despite their long lifespans, they weren’t gods. Having something to keep him in check could keep his head calm and his ego down to a minimum. “You could use some food in you, too. You missed breakfast.”

“I ate before everyone else. Didn’t want anyone asking where I was going or what I was doing. Faith is a tricky thing, and at least one of us believes God has abandoned them. Hence why I keep my prayers to myself.” He bit his lip, looking like he felt guilty about it. Duncan took his hand, if only to reassure him physically that it was alright, before he spoke. “You don’t have to hide them from me.  _ Please _ don’t hide anything from me. Our relationship has worked so well because we’ve trusted each other with everything. Don’t stop that now.” Vanja laughed, a little tremor in it, before he gave Duncan’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I thought it was because we’re deeply in love with each other, unless there’s something you want to tell me?”

“No. I will love you until I take my last breath, but you have to admit that our love isn’t the only reason we’ve managed to survive and thrive. It’s because we trust each other to a fault. You’re the only one who knows why I died the first time. And I’m the only one who knows that your cross was your mother’s.” It was the last piece of his biological family that he had, and the one he never wanted to lose. Even through the constant battles, the injuries and deaths, he’d held on to it. He didn’t remember his mother’s voice or face, only that she had died of a terrible fever when he was six years old, but he still kept her with him in this one little way. “We are going to make it through this day,  _ mijn liefje _ .”

Hearing the simple pet name that Duncan had used for centuries brought his thoughts back to earth, centered, as they needed to be. “You’re right. We are. But first, we need to get out of this tree.” He let go of his hand and pushed off, landing in a crouch on the ground before straightening up and holding out his arms. “Come on, I’ll catch you.”

“You better.” Duncan murmured to himself before he shut his eyes and jumped. A second later, he found himself in Vanja’s arms. “Hi.”

“Hi.” After he was back on his feet, he gave him a soft peck on the cheek. “They’re probably wondering where we are. Let’s get back.”

The first thing that Vogel said to them was, “Glad you could stop hugging each other long enough to plan.” She was already dressed for battle, her weapons within quick draw and hair braided in a crown so that it wouldn’t get in the way. The others were scattered around the room, also dressed for battle. Only Vanja and Duncan were still wearing civilian clothes; it would make more sense for them to have been captured wearing them. “We weren’t hugging. Anyways. How soon is he going to be here?”

“Soon. We all know the plan. Once he gets close enough, take out the goons and get him in the shoulder before you two take your revenge.” Ness said as she cleaned the barrel of her rifle for the sixth time that morning. “And then, we get Galini out of hell.”

_ Not too long later... _

“How did you capture them?” Duncan had to use every part of his willpower to not fly across the field and snap Kirkorov’s neck with his bare hands as Lazarev’s gun was jammed into his back. The Russian let out a cold, cruel laugh. “Simple. I’d just start to harm one of them and make the other watch. It’s amazing how much even an immortal will beg if they see the one person they love getting hurt. This one would scream for me to stop the moment I picked up the knife. Said he’d do anything, as long as I didn’t hurt his  _ beloved. _ ”

“Well, Sergey, you certainly deserve a bonus the next pay period. We already have some promising results from the first tests. Get them in the van, and fast. There’s no time to waste.”

“I agree.”

Before anyone could make a move, the four bodyguards surrounding Kirkorov suddenly collapsed, as if they were puppets whose strings had been cut. Only when one of them fell facedown did they see that there was a perfectly round hole at the base of his neck. The bullet had severed his spinal cord, killing him instantly. Kirkorov tried to run, but a shot in the shoulder had him falling to the ground, too. “Guess what, asshole.” Vanja hissed, flicking open the switchblade that he had hidden in his back pocket. “Next time you try to get someone to kidnap and torture us without having any second thoughts, make sure they don’t have a dead wife they can feel guilty about. Come out.”

The others melted out of the trees and ran towards the van, where they quickly disabled all the GPS equipment and any tracking devices they could find. “Here’s how this is going to work. You’re going to die. It’s not going to be a quick death, either.” He was already bleeding quite a bit from the shoulder wound, but he didn’t seem to be in pain, his teeth bared in a joyless smile. “Go on with it, then. You won’t be able to rescue the one you abandoned.”

“You have no idea what we’re capable of.”

What followed was the bloodiest death they had caused for centuries. Normally, they took no pleasure in killing, but this was different. For each thing that had been done to them, they dealt a blow in return, and by the time they had finished and Vanja had poured gasoline over the body before lighting a match and burning it, there was hardly anything left. “Burn on this earth and in whatever one comes next.”

“How long do we have before it’ll be obvious he’s dead?” Lazarev thought about it. “ _ Maybe  _ a day. Which is how long it would take us to get to Moscow by car. Luckily, I called a helicopter. Don’t worry,” he added upon seeing Vanja reach for one of his swords, “you know the pilot.”

The pilot turned out to be Alexey, who shot them a grin as they climbed in and put on headphones. “Glad to have you back amongst the living!” Vogel, unsurprisingly, was as businesslike as she could possibly be--they were on a mission, after all, and that meant a strict schedule. “We were never dead, but thanks for the sentiment, Alexey. We need to get to Moscow as fast as possible. How quick does this thing go?”

“It’s military-grade, and the fastest there is. Even then...it’s going to take three hours. Buckle in and get comfortable, if you can.” The inside of the helicopter was relatively warm, and the flight was smooth, but Vanja still held Duncan’s hand all the way--if not because of his fear of flying, because he wanted to keep making sure that he and his love were safe. “I’m okay,  _ mijn liefje. _ ”

“I just need to feel your hand in mine.” It wasn’t just a thing of comfort, and Duncan knew that. His love was concerned about them being able to get past what had happened to them. It had taken three decades after they had left the others before they could relax, before they felt they could be happy again. It had taken twice as long for Vanja to stop sleeping with a dagger under his pillow, and three times as long for him to stop looking over his shoulder every time he went out in public, afraid someone would find them.

Afraid someone would find  _ Duncan _ , and hurt him, and that he would be powerless to stop it.

His words, at the moment, would be the strongest form of reassurance that he could give him, so he fished around until he found a notepad and a pencil and started to write. Five minutes later, he tapped Vanja’s leg, and he glanced down to see what he had written:

_ I know that you’re scared. I am, too. Nearly every day since Ness walked into the shop, I have worried about what new threat we might face that could take you from me, or me from you. Even when the safehouse exploded and I saw you get shot, even in the lab, I kept telling myself, as long as we were together, we were going to be okay. None of this is your fault. I trust you with my life and with my heart, just as I have for centuries. When this is over--and it will be over, I promise you--I will still feel the same way. After everything we’ve been through, you’re the only one who could ever make me feel the way you do. _

Vanja felt tears brimming in his eyes, but managed to keep them in and instead squeezed Duncan’s hand tightly, the gesture expressing everything he felt but couldn’t find the words to say. With those words in his heart, when the helicopter landed, he felt ready to go back into hell and rescue someone he had thought to be dead for far too long. “How are we getting in?”

“Trust me, the receptionists haven’t seen your faces before.” Lazarev snorted. “Put on a suit and you can get away with nearly anything.”

It was true, they found out after a quick change of clothes. With Lazarev leading the group, they were waved through security and into the building faster than you could say  _ bread. _ “She’s been locked up on one of the sub-levels for the past five years. I have to warn you...she probably won’t recognise you. If she does-”

“She’ll try to kill us.” Ana finished dryly. “Don’t patronise us, pretty boy. We’ve been through more than you could ever dream of.” Even then, the air in the elevator was so thick with tension that it could have been bottled. “In there.”

The door opened into an entirely white room, the only colour in it being the dark head of the woman there. “Galini?” Vogel’s voice was trembling as she spoke her friend’s name, her hand reaching out before she thought better of it. She glanced up, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders as she raised her head. To everyone’s surprise, there was no madness or rage in her gaze.

Just clarity, and hope--with a smirk to match.

_ “You found me.” _ She spoke the words in Greek, but not the modern kind--it was a dialect that had gone extinct a millennium prior. “ _ It took you long enough.” _


	9. Epilogue

Three months later, things had settled down remotely for all of them. Galini’s mind hadn’t shattered, it turned out--she was just a very good actress and had managed to fool anyone who had crossed her path. Including Kirkorov. She was glad to hear he was dead, and had died as painfully as possible, although she wished she could have dealt the killing blow. The fallout of his death had been contained quickly by Alexey and his operatives, and as a result, Kirkorov Pharma had suddenly found itself filing for bankruptcy and shutting its operations down in a matter of weeks.

Vanja and Duncan had gone back to Rotterdam and their little bookshop, but this time, they had agreed that if there was a pressing case, or if, somehow, a new immortal were found, they’d return and fight alongside the others. “We’re safe,  _ mijn liefje _ . There are no new threats to our existence, nobody wanting to experiment on us. We can relax for a while.”

“Promise?” Vanja couldn’t help but ask as he picked up one of their cats from her perch on a shelf and cuddled her close to him. “I promise. And if I’m wrong, you can give me hell for it for a decade, or two, or three.” Duncan knew that his mind was as sharp as his swords, and once a promise was made, he would  _ never  _ forget it.

One time, he had forgotten to bring him a  _ pain au chocolat  _ home from the bakery, and he hadn’t heard the last of it for a week.

Brushing aside the thought, although it still left a smile on his face, he turned to greet the customer who had entered the shop, looking for an ‘interesting’ cookbook to give to her girlfriend. As he was wrapping the book chosen in paper and tying it shut with twine, his phone buzzed in his back pocket three times, two short vibrations, one long.

Something was going on.

After the customer had thanked him and left, he quickly pulled his phone out and saw the message glowing on the screen. It was from Lazarev, who had become their scout. Their way of finding cases, and weird occurrences. The main body of the message was an image, which was still downloading, but the text itself was just five words:

_ I think there’s another one. _

The image file finally loaded; it was a screenshot from Reddit, a thread titled  _ Have you died more than once?  _ being the focal point. Someone named Lud49 was detailing how he had once fallen down a flight of stairs, hit his head and blacked out, and when he came to, there was a pool of blood the size of a dictionary under him.

Another time, he had gotten locked out of the house in sub-zero temperatures for three hours and had barely gotten hypothermia.

But the one experience that cemented it for Duncan, the one that made it clear in his mind that this was a new immortal, was him detailing the time he had drowned twice in thirty minutes in a swimming pool. The memories of his own drowning rushed back, and he had to dig his nails into his palm hard enough to draw blood to keep himself from screaming. Vanja had come in from the other room, still holding the cat and humming something under his breath, but when he saw the blood running down Duncan’s fist, he gasped, putting the cat down immediately and rushing to his side, trying to pry his hand open so the wounds could heal.

Duncan seemed to be in a trance, unblinking, and wouldn’t let his hand unclench. “Duncan.  _ Duncan _ . Duncan,  _ ljubavi moja,  _ please.” Vanja begged, using his pet name for his love to try to get him to snap out of it. “You’re hurting yourself.”

“There’s another one.” The three words that came out of his mouth made Vanja stagger back in shock. “What? Already?”

“Look.” He held out his phone, and after looking at the post, a worried sigh came out. “We have to tell the others.” As he spoke, he started dabbing at Duncan’s hand with a damp cloth, getting the blood off it. “So much for relaxing for a while, huh?” Even though the situation was far from laughable, Duncan managed to do so. “You can give me hell about it. I promised that much. The question is, how many decades will it take for me to be out of the doghouse?”

“I’ll decide later on. For now, though…” It was unspoken, but they both knew what he meant.

It was time to find the next immortal.


End file.
